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Tuesday, December 31, 2013

She walked into our hearts eleven days shy of eleven years ago. We adopted her from an MSPCA shelter on a Sunday which would have been my grandmother’s 102nd birthday. She died this morning, on the last day of a very long year.

Abigail and Cassandra were not sisters, but adoptive siblings surrendered from the same home. They were and remained a “bonded pair” as the MSPCA put it. Abby was born first. A year later along came Cassie. Cassie died first. Six weeks later Abby, the elder, died too.

If you read Cassandra’s story below, you really are reading Abigail’s story as well. “Abby-and-Cassie” or “Cassie-and-Abby” was they way we so often referred to them - as if they were conjoined not bonded. But they each had their own personality and idiosyncrasies.

Cassie was very active. She was usually the one who wanted to get the game of chase going with Abby. Cassie was also very vocal. Abby was quieter; a little more reserved or perhaps mature or dignified. However, there was a major exception to that. Whenever we brought the cats home from the kennel after boarding, Abby would express her displeasure clearly. She would make a clipped little grunting, grumbling sound which could never be mistaken for anything other than disapprobation. At the same time she would stomp her feet as she walked. Seriously, if she had only two feet instead of four she could have been mistaken for a short, sullen teenager. But 24 hours after returning home it would all stop. Apparently Abby believed we had been well chastised, so all was forgiven. Let’s get back to normal.

Normal often meant finding a lap and settling in. If I was stretched out in bed watching television or reading, I usually had two cats on top of me. Abby was always on the left; Cassie was almost always on the right. But she would also sprawl at an angle so as to get the most lap and be up against Abby. When perfectly parallel to one another, with their noses pointed toward my toes, Chuck would call them my “two cat hitch”.

Cassie liked to leap up and over the edge of our clawfoot tub - in and out, in and out. Abby preferred to leap up onto the rounded edge of the top of that tub and walk around and around.

Abby was wicked smart. She came when called - rather puppy-like. Because Abby and Cassie could break out into little skirmishes and sometimes fights at any hour of the day or night, we had to put them out of the bedroom to sleep. All I had to say was “Bedtime” in a high pitched tone and Abby would hop off the bed and head out the door. It may have been routine but it never stopped being amazing.

Abby was beautiful. Cassie too was beautiful plus had the benefit of being charmingly photogenic. But Abby’s black fur with copper and gold highlights could never be properly captured on film - not even her cream colored bib.

For nearly eleven years Cassandra and Abigail loved us, let us love them, entertained us, worried us, annoyed the heck out of us and comforted us. They were our companions; our family.

The end is too recent, too heavy with grief to write about. Just as we had to with Cassandra, we had to decide to euthanize Abigail at the age of 17 and a 1/2, due to irreversible illness. Because of Abby’s passing hard on the heels of Cassie’s recent death, we feel overwhelmed. We were with Abby when she died and there were no words left unspoken to her. For that we are deeply grateful.

Last night, as I held Abby in my lap, I played Áine Minogue’s hauntingly beautiful "Celtic Lamentations". Chuck and I told her everything we loved about her; recounted the story of her adoption and all her other stories. I also told her even though I knew a cat mom shouldn’t say such things, she truly was my favorite. She was feisty and independent, yet sweet and easy going and oh so smart. Abby was the best cat ever. I am very lucky to have been able to tell her over and over how much I loved her, including in her final moments.

As I wrote six short weeks ago, this is the pain I didn’t want. This is the pain I agreed to when I said “Yes.” to adoption eleven years ago. I made the right decision then and I made the right decision this morning. But this is the pain I dreaded. This is the pain I accept; bartered freely for eleven years with my dear Abby.

Monday, November 18, 2013

She walked into our hearts almost eleven years ago. We adopted her from an MSPCA shelter on a Sunday which would have been my grandmother’s 102nd birthday. She died this past Saturday night, on my mother’s 90th birthday.

I had told Chuck I didn’t want to adopt any more pets. My heart had been broken too many times. I didn’t want any more pain. But as the months went by, Chuck reminded me of all that I loved about living with four legged creatures. I finally agreed, but I said we had to adopt a pair who were already bonded to one another and needed a forever home. At some level I think I expected that to be a big hurdle. I was wrong. Chuck called the MSPCA and soon we were in the car driving to Springfield, Massachusetts.

The shelter was bustling that day; lots of cats in cages and lots of humans looking back at them. Chuck and I walked up and down the aisles. As soon as we finished looking I walked back to where three cats were housed together in a bottom cage. I squatted down; focused on the two cats in the right hand corner. They were butt to butt facing out. I had the sense they had decided to present a united, defensive front to all these human strangers roaming around. Chuck asked me about another pair we had seen in another cage on the other side of the room. I told him he was welcome to go look at them again, but I was staying right there because I was done. Chuck looked around a little bit more. When he returned to me I said he needed to go get one of the staff members because I wasn’t going to risk leaving.

The staff member came over and soon we had the chance to visit with both cats in a little glass room. As Chuck and I got acquainted with the cats, the shelter manager told us about their background. Five animals had been surrendered to the shelter because of a divorce. One cat had to be put down. The one dog had already been adopted. The three cats in that cage were the only ones still looking for homes. The third cat was not well bonded to these two. These two were inseparable. More visiting ensued. As people walked by the glass walls they looked inside and mouthed the questions: “Are you adopting them? Both of them?” Over and over we said “Yes.”

As the time ticked by I became more convinced that my instincts about these cats had been correct. The 5 1/2 year old white cat with the black and brown markings looked very much like our cat Amanda who had lived to be 20. The 6 1/2 year old black and gold cat looked very much like our cat Willow, a stray who adopted us but died very young of Feline Leukemia. The manager left us alone to visit some more. When she returned she told us that the medical staff was worried about their health. They were afraid both cats were developing respiratory infections. It would be best if they were adopted very soon. Were we ready to adopt them both?

Yes.

The next couple of weeks were a blur. The newly renamed Cassandra and Abigail were in fact very ill. There were lots of trips to our vet, lots of tests, some medications. They lost their appetites. I remember trying to tempt them with sardines; counting the number of little bits of kibble that they would each eat. Because of the respiratory problems, our vet advised us to use steam. I bundled the cats into the bathroom with me. I filled the bathtub with hot water. I brought in a humidifier and turned it to maximum. I stretched out on a pad we used under our sleeping bags when camping and the three of us just breathed. When I saw the paint was beginning to peel from the ceiling because of all the steam, I didn’t much care.

For nearly eleven years Cassandra and Abigail have loved us, let us love them, entertained us, worried us, annoyed the heck out of us and comforted us. They have been our companions; our family.

I can’t write about the end yet. It’s too raw, too painful. I can say that, as we have had to do before, we had to make the decision to euthanize Cassandra because of irreversible illness, at the age of 16. I can say that we were with her when she died. There were no words left unspoken to her. On the ride to the hospital we talked to her about all the things that made her special: how vocal she was; how sweet; how she was ever so photogenic and so willing to be posed for pictures we called her our “Gumby” cat; how we knew that she shared an extra close bond with Chuck. We told her we loved her over and over.

This is the pain I didn’t want. This is the pain I agreed to when I mouthed the word “Yes.” back to all the other humans looking for cats that day eleven years ago. I made the right decision then and I made the right decision Saturday night. But this is the pain I didn’t want. This is the pain I accept in trade for those eleven years with Cassie.

Monday, November 11, 2013

“On that day let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us re-consecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain.”
- President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s Presidential Proclamation

Honoring all who served
Honoring all who were wounded
Honoring all who gave their lives

You stood in our stead
You stood for our country, for our constitution
You stood for our freedom, for our liberty

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

‘Tis the season for flu shots - at least in the Northern Hemisphere. Chuck’s Doc told him that cases have already been reported in California. He recommended this year we get our flu shots sooner rather than later. We did that on Saturday. It was at a “Flu Clinic” in our doctors’ offices. The situation was not handled all that well. Turns out, we had some options, which we weren’t expecting.

First off, the Flu.gov website is still statically operational. But thanks to the Republicans in Congress, for the foreseeable future, it cannot be updated. That said, it really does have a wealth of useful information. Likewise, the CDC site has a great deal of information. But it too is only statically available.

Here are some of the choices you may face when you go for your flu vaccine:

Honestly, there may be even more options than I have listed here. But I wanted to mention these so that you have the opportunity to do a little research and be better prepared than we were when we attended the Flu Clinic. It’s also quite possible that where you go may have just one variety available.

Because there are a great many age and health related recommendations for who should get which vaccine, please visit the Flu.gov and CDC websites to learn more.

Bottom line: Everyone 6 months of age and older, who is eligible, should get some one of the flu vaccines.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

So, the Federal Government of The United States of America has been shutdown.

Thank you Republicans.

The members of the US House of Representatives get paid $174,000 a year. (Some have argued that they aren’t paid enough. The theory being that if they were paid even more, then they would be less vulnerable to big-money, deep-pocketed lobbyists and corporations.) So there they are, getting paid handsomely for their time, as members of an extremely elite group, who have the power to make things better for not only their constituents but for all the citizens of our country and, often, for the whole world.

Did the Republicans do that one job? No. They worked very hard and very steadily to shut down the government. They started working on that job ages ago. Sorry guys (and it really is mostly older, white guys) that wasn’t the job description. That wasn’t what the Founding Fathers you claim to revere had in mind and it sure as hell wasn’t what the voters had in mind when they went to the polls last November.

For the last few months I have been unable to get Pink Granite to reliably load as a webpage. I Googled around and tried all sorts of tweaks to troubleshoot it, but nothing helped. The last thing I tried was deleting some of the items in the sidebar, especially one called a “blinky” which rotated images. But no joy. Then tonight I was going to Tweet out a distress call over on Twitter to see if anyone could diagnose the problem. I came over here to copy the URL and poof - the blog loaded right away!

So while the Blog Gods are smiling on me let me say how much I missed being able to gather my thoughts and post them here. I’m on Twitter, which I love despite a recent “hiccup” - more on that soon. And I’m on Facebook which I don’t love. I’m also on Happier - more on that too. But despite my addiction to expressing myself in 140 characters or less on Twitter, nothing beats the time and space to construct an entire paragraph - or five - and post them here.

When I first began this blog in 2006 I assumed I would be off in a little corner of the internet, pretty much all alone with my private thoughts being quietly made public. But soon I “met” lots of people. Both the local members of the Worcester Blogging Community and folks from all corners of the world, some of whom I am humbled and grateful to call my friends.

So here’s an early Happy Blogiversary to Pink Granite!

And now I must figure out what I need to offer up to the Ethereal Gods of the Blogosphere - perhaps a snazzy thumb drive or maybe reams of binary code printed out on green and white lined paper via a dot matrix printer, then burned as a symbol of my commitment to all things digital?

Monday, May 27, 2013

With humble gratitude to all who are serving now and all those who have gone before them.
With profound appreciation for those who gave their lives in service to our nation, in particular Uncle Carl.
We honor them all on Memorial Day.

The level of detail being released by authorities leaves me profoundly uncomfortable. What happened to these three women in Cleveland, Ohio was horrific. I can only begin to imagine their pain - physical and emotional. At what point is the “public’s right to know” superseded by the needs and rights of these three women - and one child - to begin to recover and heal?

I have experienced a few painful and challenging situations in my life. To be clear, they are absolutely as nothing compared to what these women endured. But I only revealed what happened to me to a very few trusted loved ones. To the rest of the world I am a closed book; a blank slate; just another 54 year old woman living her life; out and about in the world. I shudder at the thought of strangers knowing the most painful details of my life. If I imagine going into a grocery store - a delightfully mundane task - and having damn near everyone know my story, well, that leaves me paralyzed.

Clearly these three women are very strong. They survived. They outlasted their kidnapper, abuser, tormentor, evildoer. Perhaps they will draw even more strength and courage from their community. Perhaps they will want to tell their stories - partly as catharsis; partly as inspiration.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The website I am about to link you to is totally NSFW.
But it is totally worth a visit.
It’s called “Thug Kitchen”.
Their subtitle is “Eat Like You Give A F**k”.

My friend Morgan in Australia has a friend named “bec7ford” who is now a Twitter friend of mine. She linked to Thug Kitchen and my jaw dropped.
It’s as if someone turned Julia Child into a drill sergeant. Then had Rachel Ray punctuate her speech with expletives. Then crossed the two genetically modified women together.

If you are easily offended by profanity, don’t bother checking it out.
(Even I, who can swear like a stevedore, was initially a little put off.)
But if you are looking for some healthy food inspiration with great science behind it, presented in an unusually bold fashion, plus attractive poster-like images then visit Thug Kitchen.

I am struggling mightily not to sign off in the style of Thug Kitchen... ;o)

Monday, April 15, 2013

Growing up in Rhode Island I always liked Boston. But I fell in love with Boston when I was twenty. I drove down from my college in Vermont in an old Volvo wagon with two of my professors and some fellow psychology students. We attended a conference at Boston University. I loved every minute of it - especially during lunchtime when I walked around the campus. As I stood looking across Storrow Drive to the Charles River, I distinctly remember thinking I might have chosen to enroll in the wrong college.

A decade later Chuck and I began spending lots of time together in Boston and its adjacent sprawl. Concerts at Symphony Hall, the Museum of Fine Arts, the Ethiopian restaurant that used to be on the corner of Huntington and Mass Ave, the fountains of “Vatican Boston” (First Church of Christ Scientist), the Boston Public Library, oysters at Legal Sea Foods, exhibits at the New England School of Photography, lilacs at the Arnold Arboretum, Dim Sum on Sunday morning in Chinatown, the Hatch Shell on July Third, Anthony’s Pier Four, Sami’s Felafel truck in the Longwood Medical area, the JFK Library, the T as we changed trains from Red Line to Green Line, New England Aquarium, Mass Horticultural Society’s once annual Flower Show, Fenway Park, the Purple Shamrock, the Franklin Park Zoo, Waterman’s Funeral Home, Faneuil Hall, Quincy Market, the Museum of Science, Hilton’s Tent City, Strega’s and Bova in the North End, Tower Records and Newbury Street, the old Institute of Contemporary Art on Boylston Street, the USPS near South Station at Fort Point which was - or seemed to be - open 24/7, the Tall Ships at the Black Falcon Pier and walking together in Labor Rallies and Marches on the streets of Boston.

We saw Ástor Piazzolla at Northeastern, Candide at the Huntington, The Dance Troupe of Senegal at the Strand in Dorchester, Alvin Ailey at the Wang, Sweeney Todd at the Colonial.

Yes, we always knew how to get over the Salt and Pepper Bridge to Cambridge and the American Repertory Theater for the abstruse and the accessible, Harvard’s Memorial Hall for Christmas Revels, Asmara for Ethiopian and Eritrean food, every square inch of Harvard Square, Passim, The Coop, Au Bon Pain and the Harvard Museum of Natural History.

I never lived in Boston. But I fell in love with Chuck there. Everywhere we went was a new experience together. Over and over we had the chance to confirm how much we had in common and how different we were from one another. Each adventure brought us closer together; each adventure clarified that we were, in fact, bashert.

Today we live closer to Worcester than Boston. But today we felt our hearts break as our Boston was attacked. We felt wrenching pain as the situation unfolded on our radios, computers and television screens. We went through a blessedly brief yet intense period of worrying as we tried to sort out where a niece was and where our neighbors and their daughter - running the Marathon for the first time - were. All are safe and sound.

We heeded the wise words of Mr. Fred Roger’s: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” There were so many helpers. The first responders who ran toward the blasts; the ordinary citizens who administered first aid and comfort to victims; the EMTs, doctors, nurses, medical students who triaged and treated; the Boston Police, the State Troopers, the FBI and the National Guard.

We don’t yet know who struck this vicious blow against the city of Boston, against the cheering children and adults, against the tenacious, spent athletes and against our nation. Wherever it originated - at home or abroad - we know it was an act of terror and evil. We also know that Boston, the Commonwealth and our country will go on - once again scarred, but resilient and unbowed.

Monday, March 4, 2013

On Sunday afternoon I was startled to see a crow and, what I thought at first was a hawk, fluttering just outside the bedroom window. But once the crow flew off and the other bird settled down onto the branch, all became clear. It was an owl. Chuck looked it up and confirmed it was a Barred Owl (Strix Varia). These photographs were taken through a closed second story window, which also had a storm window. I’m afraid neither window was very clean! I was quite amazed and felt very fortunate that the owl turned and looked right at me as I snapped the photographs. The one on the left was taken with a Canon PowerShot S2 IS. The one on the right with a Canon EOS Rebel T3i.

Neither of us have ever been privileged to see an owl on the property before. It was especially surprising to see this large creature in daylight. But it was a very dark, gray day; with snow flying throughout the afternoon. When we looked up the call of the Barred Owl we knew it was the same sound we have heard many times over the years. That classic call always feels mysterious and just a little chilling. Now we have a face to go with the voice - a beautiful one at that!

Oh how I wish this excellent - and deeply disturbing - video had been available during the zenith of the Occupy Wall Street Movement. I have read the statistics but have never seen such clear and visceral graphs. Well, we have it now. Let us share the wealth - of knowledge that is.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Kodlak is seven months old and lives in Ohio with Lauren and Mike.
Kodlak has histoplasmosis and he needs a lot of medical care so he can vanquish that nasty fungal infection. Mike and Lauren are hardworking kids, a little younger than our nieces and nephews. The veterinary bills are already high and are going to continue to be significant as treatment will take several months.

Tonight Lauren and Mike launched a fundraising page for Kodlak over on Indiegogo. I had been hoping they would and as soon as I saw Lauren’s Tweet I made a modest contribution.

Kodlak reminds me of our cat Rory. Rory was a small, all black stray who found his way to us many years ago. He was ever so sweet. We called all the neighbors to see if he belonged to anyone. The elderly man next door said that he had been feeding the little guy, but that he couldn’t take him in. So we did. We took him to our wonderful vet who gave him a good check up, vaccinated and microchipped him. Unfortunately, little more than a week later, Rory was having trouble breathing. We rushed him back to our vet who ordered an X-Ray. That showed Rory had a very large infection in his chest. The doc speculated that while Rory was out in the wild he was in some sort of fight and was wounded in his side. The skin had healed over but the infection was growing inside and pressing on his lungs. Without the X-Ray there would have been no way to tell what was happening. That was why Rory passed his well-kitty check-up with flying colors only a week before.

Our vet ran an IV with fluids and handed us the X-Rays. We bundled Rory up in a blanket and I held him in my arms, with the IV bag in the air, while Chuck drove us to Tufts University Veterinary Hospital in North Grafton, Massachusetts. Our vet had called ahead so they were expecting us. They examined Rory immediately. The doctors told us they would have to perform surgery to drain the fluid and deal with the infection. They also asked for a substantial payment before they could operate. We handed over a credit card and well over a $1,000 was charged. They told us it could be closer to $2,000 when all was said and done. We didn’t have $1,000 to spare, but we knew we had to do all we could for Rory.

We drove home worried but hopeful. Surely, Tufts would be able to help. Shortly after arriving home we got a call. The doctors had Rory on the operating table and they didn’t believe he could be saved; the infection was too great; his body too severely compromised. They were calling us to get permission to suspend the emergency life savings measures they were performing. So we had to let Rory go. The next day we drove back to Tufts and picked up his body. We buried him under the crabapple tree.

Maybe it’s because Kodlak reminds me of Rory. Maybe it’s because I am familiar with what Lauren and Mike are going through with the backing and forthing to the vet and trying to administer medicines at home. Maybe it’s because Lauren is fierce and funny and does not suffer fools gladly and I admire her feistiness. Most likely it’s “all of the above” and that’s why I wanted to help.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Way back in early November, Melanie of Melanie In The Middle hosted a giveaway of a Ninja 3-in-1 Cooking System - a crockpot meets stovetop meets oven. It looked pretty nifty and 318 of us entered to win.

In mid-December I received a text message from Melanie via Twitter letting me know I had won! Just before New Year’s Eve the Ninja arrived. With Chuck getting sick at Christmas and then relapsing and our trying to make up for lost holidays it took me ages to try it out. But I finally did and I really liked it!

I’ve had the same crockpot for more than 30 years. Yes, electricity had been invented back then! It still works fine; has two “speeds”: low and high and is the tall round kind. But the new oval Ninja has a “Stovetop” feature which means I can sear meat and then add all the ingredients and let it simmer away.

So that’s what I did. I bought a boneless pork loin roast at Trader Joe’s, seasoned it, set the Ninja to Stovetop High and browned the pork. It sizzled nicely. Then I added the onions, apples, garlic - well, this recipe. I put the cover on and set it to do its traditional crockpot-thing.

I had read on-line that the little steam hole in the lid sometimes allowed too much liquid to evaporate. I really wanted to walk away and forget it so I decided to cover the hole. I took a Post-It note and carefully pressed the sticky strip over the hole. It stayed in place the whole time and left no mark when I removed it.

After a few hours I peeked inside and found everything was looking good and smelling just right. Because of the oval shape of the Ninja I changed plans and instead of making mashed potatoes, I dropped the cut up potatoes into the Ninja all around the roast. As they cooked they absorbed lots of flavor. At the end, I did remove the liquid to a small saucepan to thicken it, this time with a quick roux.

I thought about serving the roast with wine or ale. Then I remembered we had some Woodchuck hard cider. We opened the “Winter” which was excellent with the meal. Actually, it would be delicious with anything and all on its own.

Oh, I almost forgot - clean up. It was easy-peasy! My classic crockpot is crockery and very heavy and always required soaking to get the rim clean. Not so the metal Ninja with its non-stick surface.

The final result? Chuck loved it and so did I! Chuck also wanted me to send his best regards and thanks to Miss Melanie. I echo that as well.

Now - if Charlie Sheen hasn’t ruined it forever - that’s what I call “Winning”!
;o)

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

I first wrote and posted this piece in 2007. My feelings have not changed. In fact I believe it bears repeating even more so this year after extensive and intense political wrangling and manipulation to get not just abortion, but most forms of contraception outlawed in this country. The re-election of President Obama is certainly important, but it has little bearing on the individual state legislatures.

It also must be clearly stated that abortion existed long before Roe v. Wade. Abortions have been performed for thousands of years. Abortion was legal in this country before we were even a country. Abortion did not begin to become illegal in this country until the mid-1800s. Ironically, abortion became illegal at the point that the medical profession began to understand and practice safer surgical procedures. Because of this criminalization, in the century leading up to Roe v. Wade in 1973, women regularly died of illegal “back alley” abortions. Now, such a death is rare.

Today is the 40th anniversary of the United States Supreme Court Decision known as Roe v. Wade.

In light of this anniversary I have a few wishes to state:

- I wish, that from this moment on, no woman would ever have to make the decision to have an abortion.
- I wish all contraceptives, including the morning after pill, would always be readily available to all women.
- I wish that all young people would be taught age appropriate sex and health education.
- I wish that all young people would be taught that abstinence is a legitimate choice, at the same time they get clear information about all forms of contraception.
- And I wish that abortion would always be safe and legal and available to all women.

WELCOME!

Pink may be a girly-girl color, but granite is strong, solid and durable. Plus, pink granite is part of what makes up Acadia, a favorite place for my husband and me.

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